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&r"~^ tTOM ^DILLON 


Queens University at Kingston 

Over the Trails^ 


o8y Tom Dillon 


ritish Columbia 



Along the Shores of Avalanche Lake, Glacier National Park 

Hicm 6iRet-r.50we Oiose -(he. >RA«*ie \achts 

area of over 1,500 square miles, and is 
a little larger than the state of Rhode 
Island. It contains over 250 deep blue 
lakes of glacial origin, as well as in- 
numerable mountain streams that find their source 
in the sixty living glaciers and snow-capped peaks 
which are found within the borders of the park. 
Some idea of the height of these mountains may 
be gained by comparing them with the world's 
greatest skyscraper, the Woolworth Building, New 
York city. This building contains 55 stories, and 
is 750 feet high. Mt. Jackson, one of the most 
beautiful snow-clad peaks in the park, is 10,023 feet 
high or about fourteen times as high as the Wool- 
worth Building. There are a large number of 
mountains in the park over 9,000 feet high, among 
which may be mentioned Going-to-the-Sun Moun- 
tain 9,594 feet, Blackfeet Mountain 9,597 feet. 

Shortly after the park was set aside by Con- 
gress for a national playground, the wide-awake 
newspapers of the country made haste to investi- 
gate its right to attention on the part of the Ameri- 
can traveler. A party of the brightest newspaper 
men in Chicago, St. Paul, Minneapolis and Seattle 
was organized for the purpose of appraising the 
beauties of this section of the Rocky Mountains. 
Tom Dillon, of the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 
was a member of this expedition. His point of 
view will be an interesting one to every individual 

who contemplates a tour of Glacier National Park. 
The story of his experiences and a description of 
the things he saw are printed in this booklet. 

The party entered the park at Bel ton, Mon- 
tana, but since that time the Great Northern Rail- 
way has constructed a magnificent new $100,000 
hotel at Glacier Park Station, the eastern entrance, 
and a $75,000 automobile road connecting Glacier 
Park Station with St. Mary Camp, a distance of 
35 miles. Daily automobile stage service is main- 
tained between these points. In addition Glacier 
Park Station and Two Medicine Camp are con- 
nected by horse stage, making daily trips during 
the season. Because of its facilities for handling 
the tourist and its geographical location, Glacier 
Park Station is now the logical starting point for 
a trip through the park. 

Reading this tale may suggest to you a new 
and novel way of spending your vacation the com- 
ing summer. 

The Great Northern Railway has a number of 
splendid hotel camps located at the most beauti- 
ful and convenient points in the park, where you 
can secure first-class accommodations while mak- 
ing a tour at a cost of $3.00 per day for meals and 
lodging. After reading this booklet, if you desire 
to secure detailed information regarding cost of 
trip and necessary arrangements, write any repre- 
sentative named in this book. 

The cartoons used in this book were drawn by W. A. Ireland of the 

Columbus Dispatch, Columbus, Ohio, who toured Glacier 

National Park last year. 




Glacier National Park 

ERE is where God sat when he made America." A Glacier 
Park packer, bone-weary with fifteen hours of toil in the 
everlasting jumble of mountains, delivered himself of this 
conviction on the shores of Lake McDonald, as the deep 
purple of the mountains flowed softly down to the dark blue 
stretch of water. Like many unliterary men of the wilder- 
ness, the packer had a rare gift of concise symbolism. This 
park of 1,400 square miles of mountains, glaciers, lakes, 
rivers and waterfalls, might well, indeed, be considered the material pile out of 
which the Western continent was built. The symbolic thought, bred of weariness 
in the soul of the packer, was that the Great Builder had left the odds and ends 
of his world-making here in one disordered heap. 

Glacier National Park is the latest of the national playgrounds. It lies in 
the western section of Montana, between the Great Northern Railway and the 
Canadian boundary line, twenty-four hours, almost to the minute, from Seattle, 
and about 1608 miles from Chicago. Here the Rocky Mountains tumble and 
froth like a wind-whipped tide as they careen off to the northwest of Canada 
and Alaska. Here is the backbone of the continent and the little and big 
beginning of things; here, huddled close together, are tiny streams, the span 
of a hand in width, that, leagues away to the north, the south and the west, 
flow mighty rivers into Hudson's Bay, the Gulf of Mexico and the Pacific 
Ocean; here peak after peak, named and unnamed, rear their saw-tooth edges 
to the clouds; three-score glaciers within its borders are slowly and silently 
grinding away at their epochal task; three hundred lakes in valley and in 

"Here the Rocky Mountains tumble and froth like a wind-whipped tide' 

Gunsight Lake and Mount Jackson 



mountain pocket give back to the sky 
its blue, gray or green; half a thousand 
waterfalls cascade from everlasting 
snow in misty torrents or milk-white 
traceries; rainbows flicker and vanish 
in the everchanging play waters, while 
the clear Montana sun does tricks of 
light and shade on pine and rock. High 
up on some gale-swept crag the shy 
goat pauses for a moment and plunges 
from view; lower down the big horn 
sheep treads his sure-footed way; 
the clownish black bear shuffles to his 
huckleberry patch; far up in the blue, 
between mountain and sun, the bald 
eagle sails his rounded periods peering 
down for the timid creature beneath 
t he leaves and the shadows of the rocks. 
And all is as it was when the world's 
first day was done, save for some man 
tracks here and there on the winding 

Glacier National Park has no side- 
shows for garrulous trippers; it has no 
Coney Island attractions; it has no geysers; there are other canyons as deep; 
other mountains as high ; but those who have roamed the world with open eyes 
say earnestly that there is no spot where Nature has so condensed her wonders 
and run riot with such utter abandon; where she has carved and hewn with such 
unrestrained fancy and scattered her jewels with so reckless a hand. 

The park, as a whole, will never be a place for a coach-and-four or the honking 
automobile. An automobile road ha» been built along the level stretches east of 
the mountains. It is a beautiful trip, but the inner recesses will ever be for the 
saddle and the sturdy pedestrian. When the aeroplane is a household attachment 
the mountain ponies will still be footing the Whiskey trail as they did two hundred 
years ago; and from their backs men and women 
will talk of that mysterious highway of a dim, 
distant past, which can be still traced to the 
jungle of Central America. There was a trail 

there for man and beast when the Romans 


were building roads to Britain. It was there 
when the first Hudson Bay fur-hunters peered 
through the passes, and since then many a 
hard-pressed man has raced with death over it. 
As the Great Northern Railway forms an 
irregular southern boundary of this park, it has 
adopted it as its own, and not entirely for 

'Here is the backbone of the continent and the 
little and big beginnings of things." 

'The Great Northern Railway has installed a string of Swiss chalet camps along 
a scenic route for a distance of 150 miles" 



business reasons. Louis W. Hill, presi- 
dent of that great system, is one of 
those who has fallen under the spell. 
To him it is more than a traffic stimulus 
— it is a hobby — a part of his "See 
America First" obsession. As often 
as he can get away from St. Paul he 
comes to the park, so that all the guides 
know him. 

At his suggestion, a squad of 
Eastern newspaper men and a represen- 
tative of the Seattle Post- Intelligencer 
made a trip through this beauty-land. 
The Great Northern has installed a 
string of Swiss chalet camps along a 
scenic route for a distance of 150 miles. 
They fall far short of being profitable, 
for everything has to be packed in on 
horseback. In these camps is real com- 
fort and abundance of mountain-climb- 
ing food at ordinary hotel prices. 


'And all is as it was when the world's first day 

was done, save for some man tracks here 

and there on the winding slopes.'! 


The Beginning of Our Trip; Seeing Avalanche Lake 

The little hamlet of Belton is the western gateway, and Glacier Park Station 
on the eastern side opens the other way in. In Belton the railway has built 
charming Swiss chalets. From here it is three miles over a government road 
to the foot of Lake McDonald. 

Lake McDonald has a fame of its own. Many men, and more women, have 
tried their pens in describing its beauties, but the written word has failed; 

color artists have essayed to transfer its 
charms to canvas, but with indifferent 
success. The superlative, after all, is only 
the superlative, and it tells little or noth- 
ing of the twelve-mile sweep of Prussian 
blue, indigo, lavender, verditer and cobalt, 
of the pine-shrouded slopes and the vista 
of towering mountains as the scene spreads 
out before the eye. The world-traveler 

Picture shows comparative height of the Woolworth Building, New York City, 
750 feet, and Mt. Jackson 10,023 feet. 


A L 



gasps and says nothing; the young tourist breaks into an incoherent rhapsody 
that falls flat, and silence soon becomes the sign of his appreciation. 

A launch, with a grizzled old mountaineer incongruously at the wheel, 
is waiting at the wharf to take us to Glacier Hotel. Straight toward half 
a dozen castellated peaks the little craft heads, and for an hour the city-bred 
passengers marveled at the blue of the depths, the green of the banks, and the 
fang-like mountain tops, whose reflections fell all about us. 

Glacier Hotel was the real starting-point of our journey through the park. 
It is the outpost of the white shirt, the stiff hat and the hobble-gown. They are 
seen here fraternizing with the blue flannel, the sombrero and the divided skirt. 
The telephone stops here, and the newspapers venture no further. World affairs 
become trivial alongside of the selection of a saddle-horse; and the corrals, 
stocked with mountain ponies, are a busy center, the human interest of which is 
heightened by the activities of the packers and guides. 

Avalanche Lake is the prelude for the trip through the park. It lies ten 
miles from Glacier Hotel over a dirt trail that winds in and out and up and down 
through a forest of rare beauty, all well down in the timber line, where mountain 
growths flourish. 

The trip to Avalanche in the early morning hours, with the tang of the dew 
still in the air, is one of keenest delight. The trail winds its serpentine way 
through one long, tortuous aisle of pine and fir, spruce and cedar, each twist dis- 
closing new delights. The smells of the forest, moist and fragrant, stir strange, 
misty memories, and all the while the pine trees rustle overhead. The way bends 
to the north at an easy grade, the ponies stepping at a road gait, only pausing to 
drink at the sparkling little streams that are met with at every turn. 

'Lake McDonald — the dark blue stretch of water.' 

Red Eagle Mountain, Glacier National Park 



Gradually one becomes conscious of a deeper note that drowns the chordless 
harmonies in the tree-tops. Quickly it grows on the ear, as the guide tells us that 
the Royal Gorge is but a few yards away. The trail turns sharply to the left, 
pitches down for a little canyon; the ponies hunch their backs as they climb the 
opposite bank, and the first sight of the Royal Gorge is there in front. A dozen 
little rainbows are dervish-dancing in the mist that floats up from the crashing 
torrent. The gorge is perhaps a quarter of a mile long — a rugged, twisted stair- 
way, down which the waters roar, frothy white, tumbling, twisting, swirling, 
booming, snarling, whining. Timidly the edge is approached, although the 
footing is solid rock. 

Five miles up is the glacier prison of these waters, where for ages they have 
been held. Loosened by the sun, they leaped two thousand feet in joy to the 
bosom of Avalanche Lake, and now each drop is panic-stricken to get back to the 
Pacific. The mystery and might of running-water is here. The dull red rocks 
glisten with a million pearls, and the marvel grows as the eye falls on the barrel- 
like cavities carved by the fretting current. 

"The fish go up here every spring," says the grandeur-inured guide. You 
doubt it audibly. 

"How else could they get to Avalanche Lake?" he inquires, and one pays 
a silent tribute to the fish. 

From the Royal Gorge the climb is stiff, as the horses pick their way around 
the shoulder of the mountain that guards the lake. Without notice the trail 
ends on the lake shore at right angles — to its beauty. Here, in an amphitheater 
built by Thor, lies the little gem of agate-gray water. The pines crowd down to 
the water's edge and stretch up to the bare rock. They seem to lie like a green- 
black fur, smooth and soft. To the eastward is a rocky wall, on which appear a 
half dozen broad white ribbons fluttering in the wind. They are the waterfalls, 





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HL i&Jfc . 2 

Looking up St. Mary Lake near Going-to-the-Sun Camp 


4* irf 


Going-to-the-Sun Mountain, North Shore Lake St. Mary, Near Going-to-the-Sun Camp, 
Glacier National Park 




too far away to be heard as they drop almost straight for a third of a mile. 
Through the field-glasses they look like torrents of marble-dust as they weave in 
and out until lost in the green bank of pines. The lake is almost white where they 
come trickling in with their burden of foam. 

The fishermen start for the little hard-fleshed trout while the guides prepare 
luncheon. The fish are small, but obstinate beyond their size, and sufficiently 
numerous to joy the angler's heart. 

Suddenly there is a commotion in the brush; an open-mouthed fisherman, 
hatless, breaks in on the luncheon, breathless with the information that he has 
seen a bear. 

"There's a fine huckleberry-bush back there," is all the comment the 
guide deigns, as he spreads the sandwiches around a tarpaulin. 

As the sun drops down the mountain tops the start is made back to Glacier 
Hotel, with the promise of another stop at the Royal Gorge. 

"You'll see this lake again tomorrow," says the guide, "but you'll travel 
twenty-five miles to do it." 

Homeward-bound the ponies break into a trot at every "level" stretch of 
trail, and soon the rumblings of the gorge come up through the trees. The sun- 
light is gone ; the little rainbows have retired to rest, and the waters are fiercer in 
their sullen gray. It was beautiful and awe-inspiring in sunlight. It is grim and 
menacing as the purple veil of night comes down, but the guide grows eloquent 
as he tells of it by moonlight. 

Dinner is waiting when the saddle-stiffened legs reach the dining-room 
carrying appetites with new and vast proportions. Sperry Glacier is the next 

"World affairs become trivial alongside of the selection of a saddle-horse, and the 
corral, stocked with mountain ponies, is a busy center.'! 

f 4*% 



Little Chief Mountain and St. Mary Creek, Glacier National Park 

day's trip, and the lakeside loungers, ■ 
who go not farther than the hotel, 
talk glibly of our coming experience. 
And so to bed. 


Sperry Glacier 

"Hit the floor," roars Ernie, the 

You have been asleep but a few 
moments, yet it is broad daylight. 
"Hit the floor" is mountain metaphor 
for "get up." The ice-cold water has 
an electric tingling effect and the 
squeaking muscles limber on the way 
to the dining-room. The horses are 
waiting at the door, and the Sperry 
Glacier climb begins. 

The rising sun has gilded the 
western peaks across Lake McDonald, 
while the lake still lies darkly blue. 
There are reds and greens and browns 
in the effulgence of the rocks; there 
are shades of orange, violet and 

madder, sienna and cardinal, such as are only written in the color dictionaries. 
As you vainly try to find words to tell yourself about them, the guide turns into 
the forest to the east. It is go up and come down, but always the up is a little 
higher than the down until Crystal Ford is reached, and 
the tenderfoot crosses his first swift -running mountain 
stream that churns over a boulder-strewn bed. 

There is white water and water of a hungry green, 
through which the pony splashes with unconcern. Experi- 
ences are to come rapidly today, and the first one is at 
hand-climbing up from one stream in the bed of another. 
A smaller torrent crashes down at right angles to Crystal 
Ford, and it is up this that the traveler must make his 
way. Two hundred feet, and the pony passes on 
a dry trail. It has been a rather breathless experience, 
and you feel like showing your appreciation to your pony, 
only there is no way. The best you can do is to assert 
your conviction that the pony can carry you safely any- 
where you want to go. 

The climb is steady, with frequent pauses to let the 
horses get their breath. As the trail gets steeper the 

The fishermen start for the little hard-fleshed 
trout while the guides prepare luncheon." 

guide dismounts, and the tenderfoot, with a few perpendicular experiences 
behind, is willing to follow his example. 

The pitch is steep and sea-level lungs seem utterly unable to compass enough 
mountain air. 

"Grab hold of his tail and let him pull you up," suggests the guide. Only 
complete weariness would drive you to inflicting this indignity on your nice little 

"Go ahead; he's used to it," encourages the guide, and with a firm conviction 
that you are going to be kicked a mile down the mountain side, you take his advice. 
The short, quick spurts are comparatively easy with a couple of twists of the pony's 
tail in hand. 

"That horse of yours '11 have to wear a switch before [the season is over," 
ventures the guide, with a placidity of countenance that suggests that it is 
by no means the first time he made the remark. 

To the right the mountain slopes quickly down to the bottom of a steep, 
wooded canyon. The trail is from two to two and a half feet wide, cleft out of the 
rocky slope by patient pickaxes. Occasional gaps in the trees show the white 
crest of a mountain torrent too far down to be heard. On every side mountain 
tops obstruct the vision. 

"A man with good eyes can see a mile in this country," remarks the guide as he 
leads the party up a zigzag course. Soon the twenty horses are, one directly 
below the other, moving alternately, north and south, as they climb to the higher 
reaches to find the comparatively-level trail on the rim-rock. The trees become 
smaller and grow in contorted gnome-like shapes. Long since we had bidden 
good-bye to the mountain flowers. In half an hour we were on bare rocks of 
gloomy brown splotched with verdigris. A few stray clouds roll over the tree-tops 

"The trail winds its serpentine way through one long, tortuous aisle of pine and fir, spruce 
and cedar, each twist disclosing new delights." 



below, lifting to show the green and black little lakes that mark the course of the 
canyon. A waterfall, whose beauties could easily occupy hours of sightseeing, 
is passed with comment expressed in the comparative degree. All waterfalls 
are beautiful, and the human capacity for expression and appreciation is 

When the vanguard reaches the rim-rock the pack-horses can be seen a third 
of a mile below, carefully edging their burdens around the sharp turns made by 
trees and boulders. A mile or so on the rim-rock, and the trail begins to drop and 
the saddles are frequently emptied, as the effort to keep from sliding over the 
horse's head is greater than that of walking. 

The sun was almost directly overhead when a shout from the lead guide pro- 
claimed Sperry camp in a little circular valley below. The thin wisp of smoke that 
rose straight up from the cook-chalet stirred appetites long repressed by the excess 
of scenic marvels. It took a discouragingly-long time to come down the last 
mile, but all trails come to an end, and soon the cavalcade was splashing through 
the little river that separated the trail from the camp. 

The chalets of Sperry camp are pitched in a glacial cirque, where by all the 
rules of Glacier Park there should have been a lake. Lacking a retaining wall, 
the waters from the glaciers behind the peaks pass hurriedly on to Lake McDonald, 
twelve crooked miles away. 

Sperry camp lies within half a mile of Sperry Glacier, but the half mile is 
one of those measurements based on crow flight. The information concerning 
distance "as the crow flies" may be valuable to a crow, but it means nothing to 

A hurried dinner was eaten, for every one was glacier-keen, and the fact 
that the trip was to be made on foot appealed strongly to several who were be- 
ginning to have a seated distaste for saddles. 

"The lakes are long, narrow strips of blue that stretch from southwest to northeast. 

? -m* 

Pinnacle Peak, Glacier National Park 



"The glacier lies just behind that rim-rock," said Faldie, as he packed the 
moving-picture outfit on his broad shoulders. It looked like a matter of ten 
minutes' climb. It took over an hour and a half. 

The trail is hewn from the solid rock in a series of "z's" that appear to be 
endless. Just when the breathless troop would get to a satisfactory elevation, 
the trail would shoot down a canyon, and the whole climb had to be made over 
again. The footing occupied all eyes. When the dull red splinters of rock began 
to grow monotonous, the way leads out to a little mountain meadow of damp, 
sweet-smelling grass, in the center of which was an exquisite little toy lake — 
Lake Peary. On the lake's edge was a toy glacier, and little toy icebergs floated 
in its cobalt-blue waters. A turn around a wall of rock showed Lake Nansen, as 
tiny and as blue as Peary, and between them was their own private little torrent 
with its miniature waterfall. 

A few feet ahead a wall of rock rose almost perpendicular behind an inter- 
vening stretch of snow. It was a bright August day, and the snowballing was 
fine. Hands and feet were used in the last three hundred feet. Faldie, with the 
moving-picture machine on his back, hopped along like a Rocky Mountain goat. 
He disappeared in a cleft in the rock and was lost to view for a few seconds. Next 
he appeared sharply silhouetted against the sky, with a long coiled rope in his 
hands. Those to whom mountains were not a novelty spurned the rope. The 
others were hauled up ignominiously, puffing and gasping like red-faced fish. 

Sperry Glacier was spread out before us in its somber white, a great ridge- 
like mass of ice covered with a thin crust of snow. From its rock-encrusted lips 
came little rivers, trickling softly to the edge of rim-rock we had just scaled, 
there to fall straight down. 

The glacier comes to an end a mile from the rim-rock that the party gazed at 
when on the shores of Avalanche Lake the day before. The intervening mile is 

-the tenderfoot crosses his first swift running mountain stream that churns 
over a boulder-strewn bed." 



one of geological wonders, riven rocks the size of a bungalow that look as if they 
were split by a mighty wedge. Great hollows sculpted by the ice of ages show 
twisted strata in whorls and spirals and sharp angles. Here one may read of 
some vast convulsion when the world was young, ere it froze solid in its horror. 
Reds, greens and yellow are splashed with pink, violet and gold on the jagged 
pinnacles, around which cower pitiful little pines as still fearful of the lash of 
winter winds. Some of them lie abject on the rocks like creeping things, all dis- 
torted and awry. On every side the waters squirm their way to the rim-rock 
that overhangs Avalanche Lake, and a half-hour's stumbling brings the sightseer 
to that point to gaze downward in silenced awe at a scene of beauty beyond all 
words and retrospect. He is 9,000 feet above sea-level. 

There lies the lake on whose shores we stood the day before. Yesterday it 
was agate gray; today it is milk white, in a setting of dark green pines that from 
the height look like a soft, lustrous fur. To the right and left the water is leaping 
down, as white as the lake, with a roar that drowns out words. All around are the 
sharp, jagged crags, clothed in many colors, grim sentinels of the gem over which 
they ever stand jealous guard. It is far from the world of men and cities, of 
tilled fields and twentieth-century activities. The setting is all of another age — 
before man took dominion over the earth. The throaty whistle of the wind is a 
dirge, and a chill falls on body and spirit as the clouds mass in front of the sun and 
the white fire dies out in the lake below. The green carpet of pines turns to 
funeral black, and a longing springs up for the association of one's fellowman, 
with horses or any of the homely commonplace living things. 

The scramble back over the rock to the glacier begins. All along its face 
are thin-lipped caverns that look like hungry, yawning mouths, so much so 
that one does not venture inside them. They have a cruel, snarling twist, as 
if they would ask nothing better than to crush flesh and bone. And they end a 

'To the right the mountain slopes quickly down to the bottom of a steep wooded canyon. 

"The glacier Ilea juat behind that rlm-rock,' 
aald Faldle. 

f uls and spur him upward and onward, 
slide down the other side begins. 

Then the scramble down to camp. 

darkness, deep and forbidding, that 
gives out moans and sobs. Inside, 
some ice - imprisoned wind is vainly 
beating against its chill bars, sobbing 
for the sunlight and the pines. 

There is no poetry in the upward 
climb on the slippery face that was so 
easy of descent. The law of gravita- 
tion has no friends on the glacier side. 
The top seems miles away, and one 
wonders whether the glacier is not 
making as much progress under him as 
he is on it. Coming down, there was 
no time to peer into crevasses. Going 
up, they furnish opportune excuses for 
breathing spells. They are deep, sin- 
ister clefts, that lie like traps, terrifying 
by their sheer depth, although a man 
may stand astride them and could 
hardly fall into one. Down below, in 
the chill depths, the wind is hissing 
through icy teeth, shrill and sharp. A 
sort of fascinating terror holds the 
spectator until raindrops fall in cup- 
At last the summit is reached, and the 

Faldie, with the moving-picture burden, 
decided to show the tenderfeet some real mountain travel, and, flouting the trail, 
he started down the mountain sides pell-mell for destruction. We watched him 
with the idea of marking the place where he was 
killed, so that we could tell his friends where to 
come to look for his body, but he bounded along 
like a loosened boulder, always squarely on his feet, 
and beat us into camp by half an hour. 

That night, while we all lay stretched out on 
tarpaulins about the saddle pile, too tired to think, 
he offered to bet another guide two dollars he 
could climb another nearby peak and get back 
before dark. His endurance was unhuman. 

That night it rained — a furious mountain rain 
— that came and went with equal suddenness. 
While all the explorers were wearily sprawled out, 
black clouds crept softly up the valley from the 
Flathead and opened their batteries without a rumble 
of warning, scattering the loungers to their chalets. 

i1 Took OS 
over fwe. 
hours -fa Co 


'The Rises','-ANP 

t'/S'fRiAiGrtl' UP, BUT, 
-Thanks "foouR sturdy 
S-feeo.MHE jan\Tor" 

MADE \"f ■ 



Looking Northeast from the Garden Wall, Glacier National Park 



Once within their dry shelter we ex- 
pressed our contempt for all kinds of 

The rain beat a vicious tattoo on the 
roofs that was only a staccato quickstep 
that marched us all double-quick to 
slumberland. The rattle on the roof 
grew weaker after a time, and the moon 
peeped out on the camp from a ragged 
bank of cloud, throwing a soft, silvery 
radiance over the scene. Through the 
screens the waterfalls could be seen 
frisking down, ghostly white, while the 
pale-tipped pines murmured softly to 
each other. The bell mare's steady 
tinkle, as she grazed back and forth, 
ebbed and flowed in volume, waning 
from a harsh, brassy jangle to golden 
melody in the orchestral ensemble of 
the water, the woods and the wind, 
that merged into the dream vagaries 
that pass lightly just before sleep 
mounts guard. 

' — to gaze downward In silenced awe — he is 
9,000 feet above sea level." 


Gunsight Pass 

"Hit the floor!" 

Another day, damply fragrant, had rolled around, with the mounting sun 
furbishing the western peaks in gold, orange and purple. The unpoetic scent of 
newly-fried bacon sifts through the trees, breaking in on esthetic musings. Break- 
fast over, the climb for Gunsight Pass begins. Gunsight is a matter of five miles 
away. A series of short, swift scrambles up a thousand feet, and the timber 
line is passed. There are sudden plunges down into the stunted vegetation, and 
breathless upward climbs. Amphitheaters, hollowed ages ago by the ice, are 
skirted on until one of those sudden turns brings Lake Louise, shimmering in all 

its shades of green, almost below the horse's feet. 
On its surface lie the shadows of many mountains, 
and every little whisp of cloud that sails the sky 
is photographed in its depths. Looking into it 
one sees a world upside down, the reflection as 
softly clear as the reality. Just below it is a 
hanging lake, its waters held by a natural dam of 
solid rock as trim and finished as any concrete 
wall. At the far end of Louise the magic of the sun 


5sa tSp— ^ 

Iceberg Lake, Glacier National Park 



Mountain Trout — Just a Few for Breakfast 

has fashioned a gigantic opal, with 
ever-shifting, iridescent colors that flare 
and fade too fast for memory. And 
down the sheer wall, that must be 
scaled to reach Gunsight, tumbles a 
broad waterfall. 

Hugging the mountain side on our 
little eave-trough of a trail, we worked 
our way toward the falls that bejeweled 
man and horse as we forded the stream, 
with our elbows touching the tumbling 
waters. The last climb is just ahead, 
and a quarter of an hour brings us to 
the V-shaped notch known to mountain 
men of Alaska to Mexico as Gunsight 
Pass. It is at the summit of the "Con- 
tinental Divide," but, like most natural 
divisions between east and west, its 
views are north and south. 

Below, to the south, is Lake Louise, 

smiling in the sun; to the north, the 

rocky summits are swathed in clouds. 

Gunsight Lake is down deep somewhere in the mist. A bubbling little spring 

and a flat rock make an ideal camping-place, and an acre of lush-green grass 

refreshes the horses. 

Food generally comes before scenery in these mountains; but, luncheon 
finished, there is an hour of deep joy in gazing at the cloud sea below to the north. 
At first it was as motionless as a pond of pad lilies. Somewhere to the north the 
clouds came to life, and soon a cumulus mass was rolling up toward us like the 
bore of Fundy's tide, blotting out from view the peaks and glaciers. Then, in a 
moment, new wonders were disclosed as the waves beat softly up against the rocks. 
Armlike masses of clouds reached gently out to pinnacles of stone and smothered 
them in their embraces. It was a dumb ocean that rolled incessantly on, its 
breakers tumbling in gentle silence. And as we looked in speechless wonder the 
tide ebbed, found new outlets among the peaks, and the sun 
drove straight through to the blue of Gunsight Lake, 3,000 
feet below. 

A zigzag cicatrice dropped down the slope of the mountain 
wall. It was the trail too steep for horseback travel. The 
little paths are only a few paces in length, and in a few 
moments the train was strung up the mountains in units, one 
above the other. As each short section of the trail came to a 
turn, the horses bunched their feet and pivoted. { 

IrtESf. old BoYS 
l6Rts-f.Ni; -Co see -<h£m 

i If iMtY WJ&Rfc 5-tROLLiNC,, 
OU"f BROAD S'lRtE'f 

Morning Eagle Falls, Swiftcurrent Region 



"Down below in the chill depths the wind is 
hissing through icy teeth shrill and sharp.'! 

The 3,000 feet of downward zig- 
zagging becomes irksome, because no 
progress is apparent as eyes are kept 
glued to the trail. No note is taken of 
the return to vegetation until the green 
bushes begin to caress the traveler. 
Then, in a moment, the zigzag ends. 

Half an hour since we were on 
bare, barren rocks above the clouds, 
in the bright, lifeless sunshine. Now, 
a thousand flowers bloomed about us. 
The grass was knee-high. We had 
crossed the Rocky Mountains and left 
the west-flowing streams at our back. 
Before us the waters ran their way to 
the Gulf of Mexico or Hudson's Bay. 
We had come to the edge of the great 
verdant plateau that rolls in grassy 
crests to the north and east. The 
hard trails were done with, except in 
spots, and we jogged along through 
forest and meadows as we followed 
the course of the Gunsight River into 
St. Mary Lakes. 

The lakes are long, narrow strips of blue that stretch from southwest to north- 
east. The southern walls are steep, and once more we climbed to the rim-rock, 
skirted bluffs, and dropped down into canyons; but after Gunsight all trails were 
easy, and as evening fell we reached Going-to-the-Sun Camp . 

On the trip from Gunsight the cavalcade encountered ranger William Burns, 
a wiry, gray-eyed man, who has spent fifteen years in those mountains and knows 
every creek and trail in them. In some mysterious way the custodian of Glacier 
Park had informed him of our coming, and thereafter he became a member of the 
party, putting all his mountaineer wisdom at our disposal. It was he who pointed 
out where the big fish bite, where the bear dines on huckleberries, and where the 
black-tail deer snips his food ever on the alert. The fisherman crowded to him, for 
tomorrow he was to lead the way to Red Eagle Lake, of whose finny treasures 
we had heard since the beginning. 

Here, in the heart of the Rocky Mountains, the curiosity grew on us as to 
what was happening in the world. In the lounging-tent the talk inevitably 
turned to newspaper "shop." Kingdoms might have fallen for all we knew, for 
there is no "news" in the mountains. Mountain folk have news of their own. 
Little do they care for the Lorimer investigation, or the tariff, or who is leading 

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Gould Mountain from Grinnell Mountain, Glacier National Park 

G L A C I 




the National League. All this is without their steep, rugged world. Newspaper 
talk that night gradually subsided, and public interest aroused itself to discuss 
whether Ernie's horse, Pinto, could outwalk Frank Higgins' old cow pony. The 
Rebate was long and subtle, as experts questioned whether the Higgins cow pony 
was a square walker or a rack. From ponies to bear the talk wagged, and we 
humbly listened to Higgins, whose record of three grizzlies killed and one trapped 
in one forenoon was a hunter's epic. Faldie's foolhardy climbs for mountain 
goats were thrilling preludes to his story of being lost for four hours in the wilds of 

After sixty days of goat-hunting in the trackless mountains he ventured into 
the city limits, only to lose all sense of locality in general and his hotel in particu- 
lar. Invitations from the Chicago contingent to come to their city were smilingly 
declined by the young giant. He had been lost once, and that was enough. 


Red Eagle Lake 

The next day the trail led to Red Eagle Lake, sixteen miles away, though a 
ferry and a little roadwork would cut the distance in two. As matters now 
stand it is necessary to round the northern end of St. Mary Lake and then turn 
south. A wagon trail reaches St. Mary from the east, and this morning the 
ambitious horsemen of three days' experience enjoyed their first gallop behind 
the hard-riding Burns. Then St. Mary River had to be forded. We had crossed 
many mountain torrents, not a few of them swift and intimidating, but St. Mary 
was the first river that was stirrup-high. The ford opened on to the flats of 

' — one of those sudden turns brings Lake Louise, shimmering in all its shades of green, 
almost below the horses' feet." 



St. Mary, with Old Town ,a quarter 
of a mile away. There was gold 
excitement here years ago. All over 
the flats are prospect holes, piles of 
stones that are enduring monuments 
to unfilled expectations, and bleached 
winches giving mute testimony of un- 
requited toil. Old Town, once a wild, 
riotous placer camp, is deserted, save 
for three human beings. The old log 
houses are still there; the saloons and 
dance-halls, once scenes of wild revelry, 
now occupied by the cattle that roam 
the flats. A bald-faced steer looks 
complacently out of a structure that 
was the scene of a historic gun-fight, 
and one old prospector still lingers on, 
his vision of gold transformed to hope 
of oil. 

We encountered him — a long-haired, 
little old man, scythe in hand, with his 
worn-old six-shooter strapped low on his 
leg. He was as bashful as a knicker- 
bocked boy, and fell all atremble when 
the photographer got him in range. He 
was genuinely frightened until Burns nodded assurance that everything was all 
right, but his relief was obvious when the ordeal was over. We left him swinging 
his scythe, a pitiful figure of that hope that never dies in the prospector's breast. 
For fifty years he had roamed the mountains after hidden treasure; now past 
seventy, he was as hopeful as ever, living alone, cut off from all the world, save for a 
chance encounter with one of his own strange kind. 

Our next stop was in Mrs. Flower's cabin, where we drank deeply of her 
creamy milk that knows no pasteurizing or scientific treatment, but which is 
richly satisfying to the palate. Her husband was off guiding somewhere in the 
mountains — might be gone a month or two. Being alone, the only woman within 
miles, was the routine of her life. Her cabin was a mixture of heroic trophies 
of the chase and the little trinkets that women manage to possess the world 
over; a Winchester crumpled the edge of a doily, and a short, heavy hunting- 
knife hung conveniently near. 

Down the grass-grown street was the cabin that ranger Burns called his 
home, as bare of comfort as a hermit's cell save for a pile of newspapers, his horse 
gear and firearms. 

From Old Town to Red Eagle Lake the trail lies in the cool timber and on 
the flower-strewn prairie. Once a waddling porcupine ventured out on the trail. 
One bark from Burns' ready revolver and the porcupine was no more. The 
photographer snapped him in ecstacy, while Burns told of a saddle eaten years 

1 — the sun drove straight through to the blue 
of Gunslght Lake. 3.000 feet below." 





ago by one of them. This saddle is still in his mind, and Burns wages a relentless 
war of revenge. 

Next came a creek dammed by beavers just where the trail crossed. Burns 
had to wade in and break the dam before the horses could pass. Many times — 
in fact, as often as he passes that way — Burns breaks the dam, but the patient 
little builders always repair it. Each knows what to expect from the other, and 
there is no ill-feeling between them. 

At one o'clock we jogged into a clearing shouldering against the inevitable 
waterfall, within a mile of Red Eagle Lake. Burns and the fishermen went on to 
the lake, while the rest pitched camp. Higgins, with the skill bred in countless 
cow camps, soon had a fire going, while Faldie's double-bitted axe piled up wood 
for a twenty-four-hours' stay. 

At dark the fishermen rode into camp, burdened with trout, four and five- 
pounders, with tales of Homeric struggles. One of them had reeled a five-pound 
flat trout sixty feet up the side of a cliff, and babbled incoherently about it. 

There is no permanent camp at Red Eagle, and that night blankets were 
spread on the ground, a novel sleeping experience for most of the party. 
There was general enthusiasm for the bosom of Mother Earth as a couch at night, 
which was entirely dissipated before morning. 

An early breakfast allowed the still-feverish fishermen a good start to the 
fishing-ground, while the rest of us, scenic bent, followed at leisure. Red Eagle 
lies in a mountain cleft, and is yellow and blue. For a hundred feet from the 
shore line the water is no more than knee-deep, and then suddenly drops off to 
unsounded depths. The line of demarcation between the yellow and blue is 
sharp, giving the impression of a huge turquoise set in a wide band of gold. It is 
fed by a waterfall and emptied by one, and it marks the limit of fish-climbing. 
Strive as they may, the fish cannot scale Red Eagle Falls, so they cluster in 

"Red Eagle Lake lies in a mountain cleft" 

McDermott Falls, Glacier National Park 



baffled schools around the deep, evil-green pools at the base, waiting for the fish- 
erman's fly. The fishermen could not be torn away from the lake, and there we 
left them, to join us on the trail to Cutbank on the morrow, while we returned 
to the camp at St. Mary. 

There was a strange guide in St. Mary, who listened to our fishing tales with 
ill-concealed contempt. Finally, singling out one member of the party, the guide 
confided to him that he would show him trout in St. Mary that he couldn't lift 
off the bottom. The guide and the incredulous newspaperman went out on the 
lake in a skiff. We all had our opinion of the veracity of that guide. Of a sudden 
a shout went up from the lake that brought us to the shore with visions of some 
catastrophe. Instead, we watched a forty-minute struggle between the incredu- 
lous fisherman and a mackinaw trout which later tipped the scales at eighteen 
pounds and furnished a breakfast for twenty hungry men. All the skill of the 
guide at the oars and the fisherman with his line availed not in their efforts to 
get the fish into the boat, and it was finally dragged out on the shore, the very 
king of trout, the size of a salmon, and as strong as a colt. 

The next morning we retraced our trail to Old Town, where we met the Red 
Eagle Lake fishermen and crushed them with the amateur catch in St. Mary. 
From Old Town a wagon road winds out around from the mountains onto the 
Blackfeet reservation and eventually comes to Cutbank camp. Ernie, the lead 
guide, would have none of this. He was going to blaze a new trail in our honor, 
and one that would be a lasting monument to us. 

So we struck off to the northeast, skirting the grassy slope of the foothills. 
Here the winds of the world were out for a romp. It was blowing a gale, in gusts 
that struck man and horse with vicious force. It was as clean as the winds of 
the ocean, not a particle of dust. Time and time again the blasts pushed the 
horses down the slope, but they struggled back, heads down and manes snapping 

-the public interest aroused itself to discuss whether Ernie's horse Pinto could outwalk 
Frank Higgins' old cow pony." 

Canyon Creek, Glacier National Park 



like pennants. The pack animals with their burdens furnished a target for the 
winds, and they had to call on all their cunning to make any progress. 

The Rocky Mountains rise abruptly on the eastern side, and standing on the 
brow of a hill we could gaze off into Canada over the waving sea of bunch grass. 
The rolling prairie studded with blue lakes, was a welcome variation from the 
massive mountains and their austere grandeur. There was something intimate 
and friendly in the prairie. Although as far as the eye could reach there was not 
a human habitation, yet, compared with the stern, awesome aspect of the moun- 
tains, it seemed to hold out the hand of hospitality to us. 

"Acre upon acre of sirloin steaks," remarked a member from Chicago. The 
wind whipped this profanation out of his mouth and scattered his words to the 
north. Down in the valley we could see a little troop of black-tail deer scurrying 
to the cover of a clump of alder bushes that lined the bank of a hidden stream. 

Blazing a trail we soon learned was not a monotonous occupation. Little 
by little we were forced down into a valley where the bushes locked hands to 
block up; alders and willows wrapped their arms around us until our ponies had 
to pull like truck-horses to get us through. There were steep, trailless gullies 
to be descended; there were jumps over brush-covered streams, without any knowl- 
edge as to where the horse was going to land; there were bogs that had waited 
for centuries to mire somebody, and were anxious to make the most of their 
present opportunity. But we got through, with the consciouness of having done 
something, and again took to the higher levels. 

Once a grove of young pines, closely growing, blocked our progress until 
Faldie and his pack-train arrived with his ax. Then we were treated to an 
exhibition of axcraft. Faldie's reputation as an axman spreads far over the 
mountain country. He chopped a trail with such skill and minimum of effort 
that we hardly had to stop our horses. Only when we looked back were we able 
to appreciate his instinct for the line of least resistance. To us it appeared as if 

'The next day the trail led to Red Eagle Lake. 



'Then St. Mary River had to be forded,' 

we were confronted with a wall of trees, 
but his practiced eye saw where the 
trail could wind through. Two power- 
ful strokes with his razor-edge ax were 
sufficient for a tree four inches in di- 
ameter, and we picked our way over the 
stumps to the clearing and up to the 
easy-going-in rim-rock. 

We made camp at Cutbank just 
one hour better than the trip had ever 
been made before, although truth must 
tell that Burns took two members of 
the party by some route of his own 
and arrived there before the main 
body. Our only consolation was that 
they had no lunch. 


Two Medicine Lake, and Then 
Back Home 

The next day was officially declared 
a day of rest, although the fishermen 
spent their time whipping the waters 
of Cutbank Creek, and were well repaid for their labor. From Cutbank our 
trail led to Two Medicine Lake, back into the mountains, over a wagon trail for 
the greater part of the distance. 

"Slicker weather," Earnie announced, as he and Faldie started off to hunt 
the horses before breakfast, so we headed for Two Medicine, a yellow company. 
Snow had fallen on the mountain during the night, and the air was chill. Moun- 
tains came into view and vanished in black fog robes; the whole world about us 
was dull gray and hopeless. By ten o'clock the sun triumphed, and slickers were 
once again lashed behind the cantle, but we wore them again before noon. Two 
Medicine camp was reached by noon, and once more we were within speaking 
distance of civilization. A few miles distant, on lower Two Medicine Lake, 
was a portable sawmill, and nearby the uniform dwellings of the reclamation 
service workers. Upper Two Medicine is, however, as wildly picturesque as any 
of the camps farther in the park. Mountains crowd to its very edge on all sides. 

This was the beginning of the end of our journey. On the morrow we started 
across the corner of the Blackfeet reservation for Glacier Park Station, and 
Glacier Park Station sits astraddle of the Great Northern tracks. It is the 
eastern gateway to the park, and the first, or the last, of the Great Northern camps. 
Three hours' ride brought its few buildings in view, tucked down in a green valley. 
Far off to the east we saw the "cream-colored- mail" train apparently creeping to 
the west, but we knew it was making nearly a mile a minute. We watched it wriggle 
along from curve to curve, glimpsed it as it flashed by the water-tank at Glacier 
Park Station, and sighed with resignation as it vanished in the mountains to the west. 



It was the first sign of the bondage 
of the life to which we were returning, 
of hurry and worry. The mountains, 
the valleys, the lakes and the streams 
took quick advantage to call us back; 
the pines whispered ever so softly, and 
the waters purled their enticements. 
But there was Glacier Park Station and 
the railroad tracks plainly in sight ; there 
was our car on the siding waiting for 
us, and with a little catch of longing 
in our hearts we jogged forward to put 
on our yokes of civilized toil. 

At Glacier Park Station we said 
good-bye to our guides, Burns, Higgins, 
Faldie and Ernest. Strong, big- 
hearted men they were, who in ten days 
in the mountains, had won a respect and 
a friendship that only years breed in the 
cities. A passenger train came to a roar- 
ing stop, snatched our car with a jerk 
and a bang, and the spell was broken. 

We had spent ten days in Glacier 
National Park, and seen but a small 
fraction of its wonders. We had 
traveled perhaps 150 miles, describing a half circle that scarcely reached the 
center line. We had seen much and heard of more. Instead of days, we could 
have spent weeks, and yet have been unsatisfied. 

John Muir visited Glacier Park before it was a 
"Give a month at least to this precious reserve. The time will not be taken 
from the sum of your life. Instead of shortening, it will indefinitely lengthen it 
and make you truly immortal." 

John Muir was born in 1838. 

"Down the grass-grown street was the cabin 
that Ranger Burns called his home." 

No one man has seen it all. 
it was a park, and wrote: 

A Mountain Home In Glacier National Park 

The concession of the U. S. Government in allowing individuals to lease 
property in Glacier National Park at a nominal figure should certainly prove 
an incentive to many to secure a summer mountain home. There are a number 
of beautiful homes on Lake McDonald at the present time, and others are to 
be built at different scenic points throughout the park this season. The charge 
for this concession is $25.00 for one acre or less on Lake McDonald and Lake St. 
Mary, and $10.00 for one acre or less at any other point in the park, per year. 
Why not tour the park this summer, see the natural beauty of this new national 
playground and, at the same time, select the spot for your new summer mountain 



Two Medicine Camp on the shores of beautiful Two Medicine Lake 

Glacier National Park Tours 

Season: June 15th to October 1st 

Glacier National Park was created by Act of Congress in 1910. During the 
past three years much work has been done by the Great Northern Railway to 
open up this tremendous mountain region to the public. A handsome new 
hotel of unique architecture, which will accommodate over two hundred guests, 
has been constructed, at a cost of $100,000, at Glacier Park Station, the 
eastern entrance to the park. Eight different hotel camps, consisting of from 
four to ten log chalets each, have been located at Two Medicine Lake, Cut 
Bank Canyon, St. Mary Lake, the Upper Narrows, Gunsight Lake, Lake Mc- 
Dermott, Swift Current Pass and Sperry Glacier Basin. Each building is a 
substantial log structure, with wide open fireplace. First-class sleeping accom- 
modations are afforded, and the meals served are clean and wholesome. A 
great many tourists have been entertained at these camps during the past 
two seasons, and the service has been brought to a high standard. 

iiiiiir . I I 'ijiiuii 


Great Northern Camps 

A delightful tour can now be made of the park traveling by easy stages 
from camp to camp. The distance between camps varies from seven to twenty-five 
miles. The topography of the country and the condition of the trails are such 
that men, women and children can make the journey between camps at any 
point in the park comfortably by horseback in one day. Ten days or more are 
enough to enable the visitor to see many of the points of interest. A month 
or more will open new delights constantly to those who have the time to remain, 
while those who can stop only for a day or two can make a short trip by auto- 
mobile from Glacier Park Station, on the Great Northern Railway, to the camp 
on St. Mary Lake, and get a comprehensive idea of the scenic beauties that have 
made this new playground one of the most popular national parks in the country. 

One-Day Automobile Tours 

Brewster Brothers, Glacier Park Station (Midvale P. O.), Montana, now 
conduct an automobile tour from Glacier Park, on the main line of the Great 
Northern Railway, to St. Mary Camp on St. Mary Lake, a distance of thirty-six 
miles. A number of comfortable seven-passenger touring cars are now in service. 

The auto leaves Glacier Park about 8:30 a. m., and travels over the new 
automobile highway, which the Great Northern Railway last year constructed 
at a cost of about $75,000.00. This road extends along the border line of the 
Blackfeet Indian Reservation and Glacier National Park through the foothills 
of the Rocky Mountains. To the west the majestic glacier-capped peaks of the 
Rockies rise into the clouds. The run is made to Lake St. Mary in about two 
and one-half hours. If passengers desire, time will permit a trip by horseback or 
launch from St. Mary Camp up St. Mary Lake to Going-to-the-Sun Camp, 
nine miles distant. This trip reveals one of the grandest mountain views in the 
entire park. Lunch can be procured at the Going-to-the-Sun Camp, or St. Mary 
Camp, the auto returning in the afternoon to Glacier Park, arriving in time to 
connect with Great Northern Oriental Limited east and westbound. 

All first-class tickets east or westbound, which take passengers through 
Glacier Park, will permit stopover at Glacier Park station to make this trip. 
The cost of the auto tour is as follows: 

Daily Automobile Service 

One way $4 . 00 

Round trip 5 . 00 

Round trip need not be made same day, but to avail themselves of round- 
trip rate passengers must purchase round-trip tickets. One piece of hand-baggage 
weighing not to exceed twenty pounds will be carried free. Time for one-way 
trip, two hours. 

Passengers desiring to make this auto trip should make reservations in 

One-Day Stage Trip to Two Medicine Camp 

Every day during the park season passengers east or westbound via the 
Great Northern Railway can stop over at Glacier Park Station and make a one- 
day side trip by stage to Two Medicine Camp on Two Medicine Lake. The 
stage will accommodate eight passengers and makes the trip each way in three 

hours. Fare $1.50 one way, $2.25 round trip. These rates apply only when 
there are two or more passengers to make the trip — for a single passenger rates 
are double. Lunch is served at Two Medicine Camp — cost 75 cents. The Trick 
Falls, in the Two Medicine River, and numerous other attractive spots, may be 
visited, or the time before departure of stage on return trip put in boating on 
Two Medicine Lake. 

The Peigan or "Blackfeet" Indians have made this region their gathering 
place for many years, and the Two Medicine country is rich in Peigan legend. 
To this day the Indian?, whose reservation joins the park on the east, make many 
visits to the lakes where vears aijo their ancestors held a double medicine lodge 
ceremony. The Blackfeet are friendly Indians, and the tribe has already endeared 
itself to hundreds of tourists who have visited Glacier National Park. 

Two-Day Auto and Stage Tour to Many-Glacier 
(Lake McDermott) Camp 

Passengers who have only two days, or little more, at their disposal in the 
park can see over one hundred miles of wild and rugged mountain scenery and 
two of the most beautiful lakes in the park by making a two-day auto and stage 
trip to Many-Glacier Camp on Lake McDermott, by way of Lake St. Mary. 

Passengers leave early in the morning and travel via automobile over new 
auto road from Glacier Park to St. Mary Camp on Lake St. Mary, thence via 
daily four-horse stage, which will accommodate eight passengers, to Many-Glacier 
Camp. Lunch is served at St. Mary Camp. The twenty-two mile stage ride 
from St. Mary Lake to Lake McDermott takes the tourist through the picture- 
esque old deserted mining town of St. Mary, along the southern shore of Lower 
St. Mary Lake to Babb, the headquarters of the U. S. Reclamation Service on 
the Blackfeet Indian Reservation, thence through the beautiful Swift Current 
Valley, past the Sherburne Lakes into the mountains surrounding Lake Mc- 
Dermott. The trip from St. Mary to McDermott occupies four hours, and 
passengers reach that picturesque camp in time for dinner. 

The return trip is made the following day, tourists reaching Glacier 
Park Station in time to connect with Great Northern transcontinental trains east 
and westbound. The same rate for auto service between Glacier Park and St. 
Mary applies as on the one-day auto tour. The fare between St. Mary and 
Many-Glacier (Lake McDermott) Camps is $2.50 one way, or $5.00 round trip, 
except that if there is but one passenger to make the trip, rate will be double. 
Passengers may, if they desire, remain over at St. Mary or Many-Glacier Camps 
and make short side trips to other points of interest. Saddle-horses are available 
at all times at Many-Glacier Camp at rates quoted in this booklet. 

Hotel and Transportation Rates 

Passengers holding one-way or round-trip tickets, reading via the Great 
Northern Railway, which permit stopovers, can, by notifying the train con- 
ductor, leave the train at either Glacier Park Station or Belton for a tour of 
the park. 


All Expense — Camping Tour Rates 

Outfitters are prepared to furnish complete camp outfits for parties desiring 
to tour the park independent of the Great Northern hotels and camps, at the 
following rates: 

Rate, per day 

1 person $16 . 50 

2 persons Per capita 9 . 50 

3 persons Per capita 7 . 15 

4 persons Per capita 7 . 05 

5 persons Per capita 6 . 25 

6 persons Per capita 5 . 70 

7 persons Per capita 5 . 30 

8 persons Per capita 5 . 00 

Each additional person Per capita 5 . 00 

The above rates are for a trip of ten days or more only, and include tents, 
guides, horses, cooks, helpers, provisions, cooking utensils, and everything 
necessary for the trip except blankets. Tourists are advised to bring their own 
blankets with them, or they can purchase them at Glacier Park for $4.00 per 
pair with privilege of returning same in good condition and securing rebate 
of $3.00 per pair. 

Guides and Horses, Stage and Launch Rates 

In addition to the rates named above, the following rates have been author- 
ized by the Department of the Interior for other accommodations in Glacier 
National Park: 

Guides in charge, including board and horse, per day $5 . 00 

Cook for independent camping tour, per day 3.00 

Saddle and pack horses, for one or two days, per day 2.00 

Saddle and pack horses, more than two days, per day 1.00 

Stage ride, Belton to foot of Lake McDonald, one way 50 

Boat trip to head of Lake McDonald, one way 75 

Round trip 1 . 25 

Boat trip St. Mary Camp to Going-to-the-Sun Camp — one way 75c, round 
trip $1.50. 

American Rockies Alpine Club 

The American Rockies Alpine Club was organized last year in Glacier National 
Park and adopted the following degrees to be passed through before the tourists 
can "reach the heights" in marvel-land and secure the most coveted of the service 
honor buttons of the new order: 

Any tourist entering Glacier National Park will be eligible to membership 
in the American Rockies Alpine Club on registering his or her name and address and 
paying twenty-five cents for a membership button which has a significant 
GREEN band. Thus the tourist is qualified. 

Those that cross the Continental Divide will be entitled to a RED BUTTON, 
and this can be had in exchange for the button that showed previous grade of 
standing in the order. 

Three crossings of the Continental Divide or climbing any three peaks will 
entitle the member to a BLUE BUTTON. Five such achievements, in climb- 
ing any three peaks, will entitle the member to a WHITE BUTTON; that is, 
three named peaks and two summits or any combination of peaks and summits 
numbering five; or five annual visits to the park will entitle the tourist to such a 
button. The buttons will be on sale at Glacier National Park this season. 



Round-Trip Fares to Glacier Park and Belton 

The following round-trip fares have been put into effect by the Great Northern 
Railway from principal points to Glacier Park and Belton. Tickets are on 
sale daily from June 1 to September 30 inclusive, with a final return limit of 
October 31. 


To Glacier 





To Glacier 




$47 . 50 


St. Paul 



26 . 95 








Cost of Horseback Tours 

Horseback tours are the popular method of touring the interior of the Park 
where roads are not constructed. The following table shows cost per day for such 
tours for parties of two or more people, including all expenses at hotels or camps 
and guide and horse hire: — 

Cost per 

Total cost person 

per day per day 

1 person $10.00 $10.00 

2 persons in party 14 . 00 7 . 00 

3 persons in party 18.00 6.00 

4 persons in party 22 . 00 5 . 50 

5 persons in party 26 . 00 5 . 20 

6 persons in party 30 . 00 5 . 00 

7 persons in party Note X 38 . 50 5 . 50 

8 persons in party 42 . 50 5 . 30 

9 persons in party 46 . 50 5.15 

10 persons in party 50 . 00 5.15 

1 1 persons in party 54 . 50 5 . 05 

12 persons in party 58 . 50 5 . 00 

Note X — Helper added. 

The preceding table is based on the services of one guide for the first six 
people, one guide and one helper for seven to twelve people and one packhorse. 
This includes guest's board, guest's horse, guide's horse and board and helper's 
horse and board, practically all expenses. Additional guides, helpers or horses 
would, if required, be furnished at regular rates. 

Hotel Rates in Glacier National Park 

Glacier Park Hotel. 

American plan, per day $3 . 00 

With bath, per day $4. 00 and 5.00 

At all of the camps the rates are uniformly, per day 3.00 

National Park Cabin Resort, E. E. Dow, Proprietor, lower end Lake Mc- 
Donald. Rates, per day 3 . 00 

Geduhn's, F. D. Geduhn, Proprietor, north shore Lake McDonald. 

Rates, per day 3 . 00 

Glacier Hotel, J. E. Lewis, Proprietor, north shore Lake McDonald. 

Rates, per day 3 . 00 


Great Northern 

BELLINGHAM, WASH., 137-139 W. Holly St C. D. Thompson, General Agent. 

BOSTON, MASS., 264 Washington St W. A. Seward, General Agent. 

BREMERTON, WASH., 226 Front St. . . R. C. Michkils, City Passenger and Freight Agent. 

BUFFALO, N. Y., 299 Main St Geo. Eighmy, Jr., Traveling Passenger Agent. 

BUTTE, MONT., 102 North Main St M. C. Ives, City Passenger and Ticket Agent. 

CHICAGO, ILL., 210 South Clark St.— C. W. Pitts, General Agent, Passenger Dept.; E. H. Moot, 
District Passenger Agt.; W. S. Weber, Trav. Pass, and Imm. Agt.; C. C. Morrison, Trav. 
Pass, and Imm. Agt. 

CINCINNATI, OHIO, 411 Traction Bldg W. E. Hunt, General A gent. 

DES MOINES, IOWA, 315 Seventh St.— W. M. Romine, District Passenger Agent; V. E. 
Jones, Traveling Passenger and Freight Agent. 

DETROIT, MICH., 710 Majestic Bldg E. B. Clark, General Agent. 

DULUTH, MINN., 432 W. Superior St A. E. Hathaway, District Passenger A gent. 

EVERETT, WASH., 1521 Hewitt Ave H. E. Stephens, Ticket Agent. 

FARGO, N. D., 55 Broadway J. L. Rohnan.C^y Ticket Agent. 

GRAND FORKS, N. D C. S. Taylor, Ticket Agent. 

HELENA, MONT., 58 N. Main St.— J. T. McGaughey, Asst. Gen. Freight and Passenger Agenf 

D. E. Wilder, City Pass, and Ticket Agent. 

KANSAS, CITY, MO., 823 Main St F. T. Holmes, Traveling Passenger Agent. 

LEWISTOWN, MONT J. B. Cook, Traveling Freight and Passenger Agent. 

LOS ANGLES, CAL., 606 So. Spring St.— J.W. Phalon, Traveling Freight and Passenger Agent. 
LONDON, ENGLAND, S. W. 64 Haymarket, E. C— H. G. McMicken, European Traffic Agent. 

MILWAUKEE, WIS., 110 Wisconsin St P. E. Meany, General Agent. 

MINNEAPOLIS, MINN., 313 Nicollet Ave.— V. D. Jones, City Passenger and Ticket Agent. 

MINOT, N. D W. C.McHugh.General Agent. 

MONTREAL, QUE., 22 St. John St. — W. T. Hetherington, District Freight and Passenger Agent. 

NELSON, B. C R. J. Smith, District Freight and Passenger Agent. 

NEW YORK, 1184 Broadway, Centurian Bldg. — Stephen Lounsbery, Gen'l Agent. Pass. Dept 

PHILADELPHIA, PA., 836 Chestnut St M. M. Hubbert, District Passenger Agent. 

PITTSBURGH, PA., 307 Henry W. Oliver Bldg.— L. D. Kitchell, District Passenger Agent. 

PORTLAND, ORE., 122 Third St H. Dickson, City Passenger and Ticket Agent. 

SAN FRANCISCO, CAL., 655 Market St Geo. W. Colby, General Agent. 

SEATTLE, WASH., King Street Station — C. W. Meldrum, Asst. General Pass. Agent, Cor. 

2nd Ave. and Columbia St.; T. J. Moore, City Passenger and Ticket Agent; F. W. Graham', 

Western Industrial and Immigration Agent. 

SIOUX CITY, IOWA, 510 Fourth St F. W. Seibert, City Passenger and Ticket Agent. 

SIOUX FALLS, S. D Thos. Simpson, General Agent. 

SPOKANE, WASH., Cor. Sprague Ave. and Howard St. ... D. G. Black, General Agent. 
ST. LOUIS, MO., 217 North Eighth St.— R. K. Pretty, General Agent; W. C. Thorn, Traveling 

Passenger Agent. 
ST. PAUL, MINN., 330 Robert St., Cor. 4th— W. J. Dutch, District Passenger and Ticket 
Agent; L. L. La Rue, Traveling Passenger Agent; W. S. Chadwick, Traveling Passenger Agent, 
Cor. Third and Broadway. 

SUPERIOR, WIS., 917 Tower Ave R. F. Willcuts, City Pass, and Ticket Agent. 

TACOM A, WASH., Bankers' Trust Building E. J. Healy, General Agent. 

TORONTO, ONT., 56 King St. East . . . H. E. Watkins, General Eastern Canadian Agent. 

VANCOUVER, B. C, 314 Hastings St A. Whitnall, City Passenger and Ticket Agent. 

VANCOUVER, WASH., 115 W. Sixth St.— C. N. Christopherson, CityFreight and Pass. Agent. 

VICTORIA, B. C, 1200 Douglas St W. R. Dale, General A gent. 

WINNIPEG, MAN., 226 Portage Ave. — A. Brostedt, District Freight and Passenger Agent. 


General Passenger Agent, 
St. Paul, Minn. 

Forest Fires 

EVERY traveler or resident in forest 
regions is urged to take precautions 
against the escape of forest fires. 

A match tossed thoughtlessly away, a 
camp-fire left smouldering, a spark from a 
carelessly burned brush-heap, may cause 
injury and distress beyond calculation. 

Besides the danger to lives, homes and 
property of settlers, every acre of forest 
burned means labor turned away empty- 
handed, reduced market for our crops, 
heavier taxation on other property, stream- 
flow disturbed, and higher lumber prices. 

This attack on the safety and prosper- 
ity of our citizens is as unnecessary as it is 
serious. Precautions with small fires will 
prevent big ones. All that is required is 
exercise of the same care with fire in forest 
regions that one takes without question in his 
own home or in a city. Will you not do this 
if business or pleasure takes you to the 
woods in the dry season? The law requires it.